


Misérable Rouge!

by Doitlikeagreaser



Series: Les Mis Musical AUs [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Based on Moulin Rouge, Bossuet's Terrible Luck, Dancer Grantaire, Drunk Grantaire, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grantaire Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jehanparnasse - Freeform, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, M/M, Matchmaker Courfeyrac, Moulin Rouge AU, Multi, Nice Montparnasse, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other, References to Canon, References to Musical Theatre, The Office References, courferre, enjoltaire - Freeform, jbm - Freeform, marieposette, references to real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitlikeagreaser/pseuds/Doitlikeagreaser
Summary: The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub, a dance hall and bordello. Ruled over by Montparnasse. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all of these, was the man Enjolras loved… Grantaire. A dancer, who sold his love to people. They called him “The Glittering Emerald.” He was the star of the Moulin Rouge.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras & Musichetta (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Jean Prouvaire, Grantaire & Montparnasse, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship, M. Thénardier & Montparnasse, Montparnasse & Éponine Thénardier, Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Series: Les Mis Musical AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656085
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Welcome To The Moulin Rouge!

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I'm posting this for my very talented friend! Feedback is much appreciated!

The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub, a dance hall and bordello. Ruled over by Montparnasse. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all of these, was the man Enjolras loved… Grantaire. A dancer, who sold his love to people. They called him “The Glittering Emerald.” He was the star of the Moulin Rouge.

————

It was the summer of love and revolution. Enjolras didn’t know anything about Moulin Rouge, Montparnasse, or Grantaire. The world had gotten involved in Bohemianism, and, having just led and failed a revolution, Enjolras went to join it. It was not as his family had said--a village of sin--but a Bohemian haven. These musicians, writers, and painters were known as the “Children of the revolution.” 

Had he just walked into a penniless existence? Yes. He was going to try writing. And not any kind of writing. He was curious about writing about truth, beauty, freedom, and love. Now, this all would have worked out fine this one fact wasn’t true--he had never been in love! He had never held someone, never kissed anyone, he had never even had his heart shattered to pieces. 

Luckily, from right above his humble abode, a bald man wearing a practically glowing red jacket fell through the ceiling. He was quickly joined by a young man wearing a revolutionary’s button. 

“Good day, sir, I’m Joly,” the revolutionary said, looking at the bald man struggling to untie his foot from the rope holding him up. 

“What?” Enjolras asked, “What’s going on?”

“Terribly sorry about this. We were upstairs rehearsing a play,” The bald man explained, sticking out his hand to shake Enjolras’s. “I’m Bossuet, by the way.”

“Don’t struggle so much,” Joly said to Bossuet, cupping his face with his hands, “You’re going to fall on the poor gentleman.” 

“Did you say a play?” Enjolras asked, standing up. He wasn’t sure why this seemed so interesting to him. 

“Yes, something modern, titled _The Depressed._ It’s set here in France, it's the story of a man who is on the run from a police officer, while his adopted daughter falls in love with a revolutionary,” Joly explained, pulling Bossuet down. “Bossuet is playing the leader of the revolution. Spoiler--everyone dies at the end.”

“I suffer from a horrible case of bad luck,” Bossuet explained, pulling himself up.

“How is he?” called a worried voice from upstairs, whose name was Combeferre. Enjolras looked up through the hole to see a group of young people looking down at him. 

“Just a massive bump on his head, nothing else,” Joly answered.

“Wonderful, now we need to finish the running through the show before seeing the financier tomorrow,” groaned another voice upstairs, whose name was Courferyac. He was wearing a long pink gown and a long blonde wig that did not hide his unruly dark hair very well. 

“He’s right, Joly, I still need to finish writing out the music,” Combeferre added, “And I’m not very good with this kind of thing. And I can barely play the part of a romantic revolutionary when apparently you won’t let me wear my glasses on stage because ‘glasses aren’t romantic.’”

“I know, I think your glasses look adorable,” Courfeyrac agreed, resting his head on Combeferre’s shoulder affectionately. “You make an excellent romantic partner.”

“Find someone to read the part,” said a young woman wearing a green vest. It didn’t make any sense to Enjolras that Courfeyrac would be dolled up when they had a woman right there. 

“Musichetta, where are we going to get someone who can play a fierce revolutionary?” Courfeyrac replied. 

She looked down pointedly into the hole, directly at Enjolras. Before he knew it, he had been lifted upstairs to play Bossuet’s part. Bossuet was now trying to play the part of the police officer. Now they had to figure out the words to the song introducing the revolutionaries.

“Maroon, the wounds of furious countrymen; dark gray, the nights of times of old?” Bossuet suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Joly shook his head. “How about this one--red, the color of men's blood once it is oxygenated, black, the color of untreated gangrene--”

“Only the medical customers will get that reference, and they will be concerned for your mental state,” Combeferre replied, eyes wide.

“All I heard was it doesn't rhyme,” Courfeyrac shrugged, “I have no idea what you just said.”

“For the best, my dear, for the best,” Combeferre muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, still horrified.

Enjolras cleared his throat, and said, “What about this--red, the blood of angry men; black, the dark of ages past; red, a world about to dawn, black; the night that ends at last!”

The others stopped and looked at him. 

“Genius, absolute genius,” Joly said in wonder. “Combeferre, you and him should write a show together!” Joly suggested.

“I don’t know how well that’ll work, but we could try it sometime,” Combeferre shrugged. 

“Montparnasse wouldn’t agree to that,” Courfeyrac said, “Have you ever written anything like this before?”

“No,” Enjolras shook his head. 

“Well, he’s got talent, and I like him,” Bossuet said, trying to lean his hand on the table but missing and landing his hand on Enjolras’s lap. Enjolras squeaked sharply and gave Bossuet’s hand a hard smack. 

“Sorry! I didn't mean that! I have a boyfriend and a girlfriend! They are the only luck I’ve got!” Bossuet scrambled away from him, his entire face flushed. 

“Well, you can certainly deliver a good line when you need to. I mean, that wasn’t too graphic but it was powerful,” Joly explained. He turned to Musichetta and took her by the arms. “With this guy on our team, we’ll be able to write the revolutionary show we’ve always dreamed of!”

“But how will we convince the boss?” Courfeyrac asked from the corner, where he was braiding his wig. 

————

That night, the group was on their way to work by carriage. Enjolras was wearing a dashing suit that was actually Combeferre’s, while everyone else was already in their costumes.

“So who are you?” Joly asked him for the twentieth time.

“Enjolras, the playwright,” Enjolras answered, ruffling his hair again. He had been nervously redoing his hair for the past half hour, driving Courferyac crazy with how perfect it was. 

“And where are you from?” Courfeyrac pressed him.

“Paris; here to meet the star of the show,” Enjolras added when he saw Combeferre opened his mouth to ask the next question.

“Oh yeah, Grantaire’s going to love you,” Musichetta said excitedly, clapping her hands. “You look so nice in that red jacket. It’s like it was made for you.”

Enjolras stopped for a moment, the excitement gone. “I can’t do this. I can’t write this kind of play, I can’t even pretend. I don’t even know if I’m the right kind of revolutionary,” he said softly, face turning white.

Bossuet sat forward. “Do you believe in Freedom, Beauty, Truth and Love?”

“Well, of course I believe in freedom, I tried to lead a revolution back in Paris but it failed. Beauty, I mean, I think I could recognize it, maybe. Truth… yes, I believe in truth, because getting lied to is horrible… Love? I’ve never loved, nor have I been loved, but I think it exists for some people,” Enjolras said with a shrug. 

“Well, guess what? We love you, so now you are loved,” Musichetta said. 

“Then what are you worried about? You fit fine,” Bossuet said assuringly.

“Sorry,” Enjolras apologized, “I just keep hearing my father telling me if I go here I’ll end up with a dancer.” 

Joly waved the idea away. “We’ve got waitresses, if you like ladies, if you like men, some fine bartenders--”

“Hey, I can hear the music from here!” Bossuet shouted over him, “And it’s our jam!”

Everyone in the carriage except Enjolras raised their arms up and began yelling, “ _No you won’t fool the children of the revolution, no you won’t fool the children of the revolution!_ ”

Enjolras slipped over to the window. Outside, he could see a huge red windmill, bright lights shining and music blaring from within. 

“This is it, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac shouted, “Welcome home! Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!”


	2. The Glittering Emerald

The Moulin Rouge was bigger inside than outside. Crazy lights reflected from one side of the room to the other, and the music was so loud that Enjolras had to cover his ears. 

The curtain of the stage opened, revealing a handsome young man in a top hat--in this setting he looked a bit like a circus ring leader--surrounded with dancers. 

“Welcome everyone, to the Moulin Rouge! I am your host for this evening, Montparnasse!” The man shouted over the music with a bow. “Outside, it may be raining, I can never tell from here because I have no life outside of this place other than my spouse at home, who is the absolute love of my life, but that’s not the point. But inside, it’s entertaining, which of course I know for a fact! It is time for the line dance portion of our show--the can-can!” He flipped a sign reading which line dance would be beginning, and the patrons got in formation. 

Enjolras was beginning to get used to the loud noise, and pulled his hands away from his ears. The dancers were all over the place, joining patrons and pulling them up to join them dancing. 

Courfeyrac grabbed his arm. “We have evaded Montparnasse. You are in the clear.”

“And now, our star, the Glittering Emerald, the admirable, the indomitable--Grantaire!” Montparnasse shouted. A trapdoor opened in the ceiling, and a trapeze lowered with a dark shadowy figure riding it like a swing as the audience applauded excitedly. Enjolras clapped politely with a look of confusion, attracting the attention of one of his fellow viewers. 

“Do you not know what you're about to watch?” The person said incredulously.

Enjolras shook his head. “I only just moved in here.”

“Well, you're in for a treat,” his fellow replied as silence ensued.

The person on the trapeze began to sing, “ _Diamonds are forever, they are all I need to please me, they won't leave in the night, no fear that they might desert me..._ ” The heat picked up as the spotlights moved to reveal the mysterious singer. He was an incredibly good-looking man, with dark curly hair and light blue eyes. He smiled as he began his gymnastics routine, flipping around on the beam, then lowering himself to a table. 

“ _Men grow food cold as we grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end,”_ he continued, sauntering seductively across the table, moving on to the next one, “ _But square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks won't lose their shape, diamonds are a lover's best friend!”_

Enjolras was completely taken by surprise when Grantaire came to his table, which was almost full. The beautiful, to the extent where it didn't seem real. He squatted down, facing the person sitting across from Enjolras and cupped the surprised woman's face in his hands, tipping it up to face him. Enjolras was as surprised as the woman when Grantaire leaned down pressed a kiss on her mouth, moving in such a fashion that got her out of her chair. 

He stepped off the table on the chair, saying nonchalantly, “Thank you, Madame!” The backup singers began the next song in the medley as Grantaire mingled among the club-goers. 

“ _Acting up, drinking my cup, I couldn't care less what you think,_ ” he called out, stealing someone's drink and taking a generous gulp then setting it back in front of the man with a little wink. “ _I don't need no permission, did I mention? Don't pay him any attention, because you had your turn, now you're gonna learn, what it really feels like to miss me!”_

Grantaire made his way back to the stage, joining the other dancers in a strange routine involving quite a lot of hip action and waving one hand in the air. 

The other dancers soon moved forward so Grantaire and Montparnasse could quickly change costumes. “So which one is Thenardier, le Duke du Thenard?” Grantaire asked. 

“The one Courfeyrac waves a handkerchief at,” Montparnasse replied, peeking out through the dancers' skirts. “I’ve arranged a special meeting with him and you, and you will be alone.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“What do you think his type is? Wilting Flower? Sweet And Bubbly? Angsty And Brooding?” Grantaire made the corresponding face with each name. Montparnasse shook his head at all of them. “Last one--Politics and Revolution Savvy.”

“Never make that face again. I am going to have nightmares,” Montparnasse groaned, shaking his head. “I can't get a good read on him. Usually when I write to these people, their responses are more readable. Try just winging it.”

“You sure about this?” Grantaire asked, peeking out and adjusting his tight pants. They weren't at all comfortable, but they got the job done.

“Don't you worry yourself,” Montparnasse replied, patting his head, “I got this.”

Joly was making his way over to the Duke at that moment with a plate of tea, which he 'stumbled' into Combeferre. The tea spilled all over Thenardier.

“Oh, let me clean it up, baby,” Courfeyrac insisted to Combeferre, who, not knowing the plan, began trying to frantically clean up the mess. 

He waltzed casually over to Enjolras, stealing his handkerchief from his pocket. "Do you mind?" He began to wave it at Thenardier, just as Montparnasse was peeking out again.

"That one," Montparnasse said, nudging Grantaire, who looked out just as Courfeyrac changed directions, now spinning the poor handkerchief around in Enjolras' face.

“You sure?" Grantaire asked, retracting his head, “He looks an awful lot more handsome than you described last night. You said he was in his forties. This man looks like he’s twenty-something.”

“I'm absolutely certain,” Montparnasse responded, pushing him out, “Have fun!” He added sweetly.

Enjolras, on the other hand, had no idea what the plan had been to begin with, so he just went along with it.

“Hey, just thought you should know, we’ve arranged a meeting with you and Grantaire. It’s in a few minutes, so prepare yourself,” Combeferre said to him, sitting down quickly. He looked around. 

“Can you come with me?” Enjolras said after some hesitation. Being in a room with a random stranger alone reciting some poetry wasn’t the most comfortable thought he had. 

“I better not, you two should get to know each other without any interference,” Combeferre explained, getting up. “I’ll see you later. Good luck.”

So now Enjolras had to meet that person who had the confidence of a bird in the air alone, without making a fool of himself. Enjolras had to admit though, the dancing did look pretty fun. 

“Why, hello,” said a smooth voice, and a hand rested on Enjolras's shoulder from behind. Enjolras sat up straight in his chair in surprise, turning around to face his visitor. It was the gorgeous man from earlier. He figured he had to come up with something intelligent to say.

“What do you want?” he snapped suddenly, not feeling all that proud of himself. 

Grantaire didn't seem to notice that he was flustered beyond anything he had ever witnessed in his life. He just smiled and said, “You're very pretty, you know that? Like, godlike beautiful.”

Enjolras frowned. “ No, I'm not--” Joly stepped on his foot on the way by “--I did not know that.”

“Well, this evening, it's the House's choice,” Grantaire explained, his arm migrating over Enjolras's shoulder, causing his breathing to accelerate for some reason. The crowd whistled. 

“For what?” Enjolras was annoyed at how suddenly he was snapping at Grantaire. 

“For dance partners, silly,” Grantaire laughed, but Enjolras sensed a slight fakeness in the laughter. “And I chose you.”

“Um, no thank you,” Enjolras said harshly, “I can't dance. I’ve never done this before. I’d rather watch.”

The music began to cue up again as Grantaire pulled Enjolras out of his seat. “I'll lead. Just don't look back, and keep your eyes on me.”

“I'm going to trip,” Enjolras argued, pulling away. 

A real smile lit up Grantaire's face as he said, “Oh, shut up and dance with me.” Grantaire carefully placed his hand on Enjolras's waist, and guided him to the dance floor. Combeferre walked by quickly, whispering to Enjolras, “Hit him with the most modern poem you have.”

“You feel the rhythm of the night, dance until the morning light, you can leave it all behind!” Courfeyrac was singing at the absolute top of his lungs on the stage, not caring that the song was far out of any sane tenor’s vocal range, and Montparnasse was in the wings shaking his head. “That man is a lunatic.”

Enjolras stood on the dance floor while Grantaire held onto one of his hands, trying to guide him through a dance, but he just stood like a greek statue. The crowd was getting excited, trying to push him into Grantaire’s arms. 

Bossuet and Joly were watching on the side. “It’s going well. He’s interested.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Bossuet replied, “He’s young, handsome, charming. He’s clearly got a gift for people. I can’t believe he said he had never been in love nor loved before.”

The pair continued to watch in stifled laughter as Grantaire tried to seduce Enjolras, dancing with him and holding far closer than necessary. At this point, Enjolras had stopped fighting and decided to go with it. His eyes would widen when Grantaire would pull in close to his face, though. He had no idea what to do with himself. 

Montparnasse was watching them from a dark corner. “Well, at least he can dance. Or pretend to. Either way, at least Grantaire’s got him.”

Grantaire twirled around, having the time of his life. He had actually gotten the duke, or more correctly, who he _thought_ was the duke, to dance with him. And he was really good-looking. Now to strike up a little conversation. “It’s so wonderful of you to take an interest in our little show.” 

“It sounds very exciting, I’d be delighted to be involved,” Enjolras stammered, breathing a sigh of relief that he didn’t sound angry this time. 

Grantaire’s eyes lit up. “Wait, really?”

Enjorlas caught himself. He couldn’t rush right into getting involved. He had a speech he had worked out a little. “Assuming you like what I do, of course.”

The grin on Grantaire’s face slightly concerned him though. “I’m sure I will.” He twirled out, then Enjolras pulled him back in and, again, came too close. 

“I was thinking we could do it in private, you know, so it’s quieter,” Enjolras explained, bouncing awkwardly back and forth. “Just a private poetry reading.”

Grantaire thought for a moment, then decided that Enjolras was too much of a gentleman to say what he meant out loud. Though a poetry reading sounded like something he would normally make fun of if he ever went to one. But he went along with the metaphor. “Oh, poetry reading, nice. How about one after supper? Just the two of us?”

Enjolras nodded. The crowd cheered again. “I’ll see you in a few moments, just got to get back to the show,” Grantaire said with a wink, then caught the trapeze as it zoomed by. 

“ _These rocks won’t lose their-_ -” Grantaire cut off in his song, gasping for breath and shaking. Enjolras squinted up at the gymnast, who suddenly took a dive off the trapeze into the audience. 

Bahorel, the guard who was in charge of catching Grantaire if he fell, jumped over and caught him, carrying him out the back room to find out what happened. 

Montparnasse was biting his nails. “Is he okay? Did the audience notice anything was wrong?” The crowd began chanting. Montparnasse took a breath and went out on the stage. “You frightened the poor gentleman away!” A collective groan answered him. “But there are few more dancers who need one for the next dance, the tango, so feel free to join them!”

Feuilly, the stage manager, peeked out and pushed the curtain aside so Bahorel could get Grantaire backstage. “I don’t know if that Duke’s going to see him later.”

Bahorel laid him down on the fainting couch, unbuttoning his shirt so Grantaire could breathe. Jehan hurried in with some water. “Scoot, let me see,” they said, pushing Bahorel out of the way. 

They tried to give Grantaire some water, but ended up pouring it on his face. “Hello?” Grantaire asked, sitting up groggily and wiping the water off his face with his sleeve. He tugged the rest of the buttons loose on his shirt, showing what looked like a corset. “This thing’s too tight. I’ve gained a few pounds since I wore it last.”

“Well, at least that’s all,” Jehan replied, putting away the water. “Why do you wear a corset?”

“Like I said, I gained weight, so I’ve got to hide it somehow, or else I won’t get customers,” Grantaire explained, “People don’t want to sleep with a chubby man.”

“I don’t think most people are particularly attracted to a male-identifying man wearing women’s underwear to hide his bodily insecurities either, but that's your choice,” Jehan responded with a little shrug of their shoulders. 

Feuilly peeked in again. “Everything alright? Ready to get back out there? Or any problems?”

“Nothing I want to explain to you,” Jehan said back, pushing him out. They turned back to face Grantaire, who had gotten up. “That duke is sure something.”

“Really?” Grantaire said brightly, “You think so?”

“Honey, do I look like I’m kidding? He’s rich, has good taste in art, and is _really_ cute,” Jehan explained, holding up a dress, looked at Grantaire, then shook their head. They finally chose a green set of… pajamas, and saw that Grantaire was flushed. “Hey, don’t tell me I’m wrong. He has eyes like a cloudless summer sky and his hair looks like it was woven from the strings of Apollo’s lyre.”

“How do we know that he isn’t Apollo himself?” Grantaire replied, burying his face in a pillow, which Jehan took away. 

“You already almost died of suffocation once, we are not having that happen again.” Jehan scolded, shaking their finger at him. “But in all seriousness, you could be the next George Blagden!”they continued excitedly, clapping their hands. 

Grantaire shook his head. “I will never be that gorgeous.”

“Oh, you are handsome, Grantaire; and you have talent,” Jehan argued, helping him into a different outfit. 

“Maybe one day, I’ll get to be an actual actor,” Grantaire said without certainty. 

Meanwhile, Thendarier, le _real_ Duke du Thenard, was looking for Montparnasse. He had no idea where that sneaky little man had headed off to, but he knew that Grantaire was probably waiting for him.

Montparnasse was off to check on Grantaire. “How is he, Flower?” he asked his spouse, peeking in. 

“He feels alright, just a little dizzy, you know, tight costumes, high heights, crazy tricks, that whole thing,” Jehan said, giving him a hug, They didn’t see one another much, so they showed as much affection as possible. “You’re going to be coming upstairs tonight, and _no_ interruptions this time?”

“Yes, Flower, I promise. Grantaire, I think that Duke’s going to have a heart attack,” Montparnasse said to Grantaire, who was posing in front of a mirror. “I hope he does. He’s a jerk.”


	3. Your Song

Courferyac was dragging Combeferre by the wrist, followed by everyone else. “He literally is just getting into the Room,” he said repeatedly, “I can’t believe how well that whole thing worked.”

“So you’re telling me that Grantaire just invited him in there?” Bossuet asked, “Just like that?”

“Does Enjolras even know how that whole thing works? Because he gives me the impression that he doesn’t,” Joly said nervously, fidgeting with his hat.

Musichetta had brought Enjolras up to the Room, where he was now waiting awkwardly. He had his poems in his hand, twisting them around his hand. He had no idea how this whole thing was supposed to go. 

Finally, Grantaire came in, wearing the… pajamas from earlier. “This place, I think, is perfect. How do you like it? ‘Poetic’ enough?” He twirled to let Enjolras see the full effect.

Enjolras was looking around the room though, not even seeing the outfit. “Yes, actually, it’s perfect for poetry.”

Grantaire cocked an eyebrow at him, then resumed the act, walking over to the small table, which had quite a quantity of food on it. “Would you like some supper? A little champagne?” As he said this, he poured two generous glasses, sipping his quickly. 

Enjolras finally looked at him and jumped as if Grantaire had just turned into a melon right before his eyes. “No thank you, I don’t drink. I prefer to just get this over and done with.” 

Grantaire almost dropped both glasses on the floor. “Oh.” He tried not to sound offended as he continued, “Very well. Then why don’t you come down here? To get it over and done with?” He laid down on the bed on his stomach, patting the seat next to him.

“No thank you, I prefer to do it standing,” Enjolras explained. 

Grantaire tried to not look surprised as he started to get up. _I can figure this out,_ he thought. 

Enjolras hurried over to him, flustered, almost pushing Grantaire back onto the bed. “You don’t have to get up. I mean, it’s quite long, and I would of course want you to be comfortable.” Seeing Grantaire’s eyes widen, he tried to explain, “It’s a quite modern thing I do, but if you want, you might enjoy it.”

Courfeyrac and the others were sitting next to the windows outside, trying aggressively not to laugh. “Looks like he doesn’t know how it works,” he giggled, and Combeferre had to kiss him to shut him up. 

Grantaire was trying to wrap his mind around the situation. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. This very handsome man who was now smiling awkwardly, in such a way that was positively adorable, was asking him to… “I’m sure I will,” he decided. 

Enjolras began pacing across the room, taking deep breaths. Grantaire was waiting patiently, lying down on the bed, trying to look as appealing as possible. The other performers were hysterical.

“Excuse me a moment,” Enjolras said, continuing to pace around. He had to come up with some nice poetic thing to say. “The sky… is… with the bluebirds? Come on,” he was racking his mind for something, anything, but it was hard to focus when Grantaire looked like he was having a seizure. 

On the contrary, Grantaire was getting impatient. He sat up and moved over to the side of the bed where Enjolras was standing, making a fairly impressive raspberry sound. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m just nervous,” Enjolras explained, shaking out his arms, “It just takes a while to--”

“Oh, I get it, take your time,” Grantaire replied quickly, not needing the whole explanation. There was some strange choking-laughing sounds coming from outside, but it was around flu season, so he didn’t call any attention to it. “Need any help?” 

“No, I think I’m alright.” Enjolras was sweating. He couldn’t think of anything. 

Grantaire was about done waiting around. He thought, _I could understand a person if he said to go away, I could understand a person if he happened to be straight--you think? Do I know?_ Enjolras frantically caught a rainbow handkerchief and shoved it back into his pocket. _Nah_. He gently took Enjolras by the shoulder and tugged him onto the bed. “You want to do this?”

“Do what?” Enjolras said, confused, even though Grantaire gave him a meaningful look and nudged this thigh with his hand. 

“You know what I mean.” Enjolras was now being bewildered by Grantaire snuggling up to him. Grantaire, however, was surprised by how little he had to force himself. He was actually kind of enjoying this. 

Bossuet couldn’t help calling through the window, “He’s got a huge talent!” The rest of the group nearly fell off the roof laughing. 

Enjolras squirmed away, standing up and righting his collar. “All right. Here we go. _It’s a little bit funny._ ”

“What?” Grantaire was slightly confused. 

“ _This feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide._ Is this okay? Is this what you meant?” Enjolras asked self-consciously. 

“Oh! Yes, this is what I want!” Grantaire nodded excitedly, lying down again and getting comfortable, sort of. “Naughty words,” he snorted to himself.

“ _I don’t have much money but boy, if I did--_ ”

“Yes!” Grantaire was still trying so hard to seduce Enjolras that he was barely listening to the words, just trying to get him excited. It doesn’t take a genius to know that this was working like salt on a cut.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, but continued, “ _I’d buy a big house where we both could live_?”

“Oh, I love it. It’s so good!” Grantaire continued to shout from the bed, and Enjolras began to question if he should leave and find someone to get Grantaire some help. 

“ _If I were a sculptor--then again, no. Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show--_ ”

“Don’t!” Grantaire cried out. Enjolras stopped. “No, don’t stop. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“ _I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do._ ” Enjolras realized Grantaire wasn’t listening, so he began singing his poetry. “ _My gift is my song_.” Grantaire sat up. The man can sing. Have mercy on his soul. 

“ _And this one’s for you. And you can tell everybody this is your song, it may be quite simple, but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down into words, how wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”_ Enjolras turned around to face Grantaire, who was sitting on the floor next to the bed, eyes huge. He got up and walked over to Enjolras, now standing in front of him.

Enjolras could feel his breath leaving quickly. “ _So excuse me for forgetting, but these things I do, you see I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue, anyway, the thing is, what I really mean, yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen.”_ He twirled Granatire around in a funny little circle, and Grantaire blushed. “ _And you can tell everybody this is your song, It may be quite simple but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down into words, how wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”_

He stopped, staring into Grantaire’s eyes. “They’re blue, by the way,” Grantaire said softly, with a little giggle, and Enjolras embraced him gently. They sat down next to each other on the bed. “I can’t believe this. I am falling into the old cliche. I think I’m in love with a young, handsome, talented Duke.”

Enjolras pulled away for a moment. “Duke? What do you mean?”

“Not that the title’s important,” Granatire added quickly, flushing red. He rested his head on his companion’s shoulder, and with a little burst of confidence leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. 

“I’m not… a duke. I’m a writer,” Enjolras look at Grantaire in surprise.

Grantaire’s eyes opened, and he stood up and looked at Enjolras hard. “No. You can’t be one of Courfeyrac’s oh-so-talented, bohemian, tragically impoverished fancy boys, can you?” 

“Well, I prefer to be called a man, and I’m not that fancy--I mean, I look fancy in this suit but--”

“I am going to kill that guy, I swear!” Grantaire shouted, smacking his hand on the bed. 

Combeferre looked at Courfeyrac worriedly. “I think something went wrong.”

“Alright, what he told me was--” Enjolras tried to explain, following him across the room.

“What about the Duke?” Grantaire fumed, opening the door. Right outside, in the flesh, was Montparnasse, talking with Thenardier. “Oh, come on!” He slammed the door shut. 

“I am so sorry about this,” Enjolras said, but Grantaire shoved him toward the back of the room. 

“Hide out the back!” Grantaire snapped, but the door opened again, this time by Montparnasse.

“Are you decent in there?” He shouted. Grantaire yanked a curtain over himself and Enjolras. “I was waiting,” Grantaire said, trying desperately to resume the collected seductivity he had a few minutes before. He slinked over to the food table so Enjolras could hide. 

“Thenardier, Duke du Thenard, allow me to introduce Monsieur Grantaire,” Montparnasse said with a bow.

Grantaire stepped forward gracefully. “How wonderful of you to take time out to visit.”

Thenardier was a fairly unattractive middle-aged man. Exactly the kind of client Grantaire was fairly used to dealing with. “The pleasure is mine, dear,” he said, sounding slightly impatient. 

Montparnasse pushed Thenardier forward as Enjolras was peeking out to see what was going on. “Why don’t you two dumplings go in there, and I’ll shut the door, and you can get all acquainted? Alright, toodles!” 

Grantaire stared at the door for a moment as Thenardier, to be respectful, bowed to kiss his hand. “ _A kiss on the hand may be quite continental--_ ”

“But diamonds are a lover’s best friend, yes,” Grantaire replied, unamused. 

“Well, after tonight’s pretty displays, you must be in need of a refreshment,” Thenardier said crisply, walking over towards the refreshment table--right to Enjolras’s hiding place!

Granatire reached out instinctively. “Don’t! I mean... don’t you just love the view up here?” He began to flirtatiously adjust his fluffy curls frantically. He didn’t actually know what he was doing, he was just going to keep Thenardier away from that table and--hopefully it didn’t need to go this far--doing something else.

Thenardier stopped, allowing Enjolras to scoot to the other side of the table. “Oh, yes, charming,” he said, barely glancing up, still reaching for the champagne.

“You want to dance? I’m feeling like dancing,” Grantaire said quickly, twirling around.

Thenardier watched him dancing around, standing awkwardly with his hand outstretched to the bottle. “You see, I should like a glass of champagne.”

“It’s a little bit funny.” Grantaire had evidently gotten all his dancing out, and was shaking a little bit. Thenardeir raised an eyebrow. “This feeling…” he glanced over at Enjolras, who was curled up behind the table, praying to whichever deity would take him that Thenardier wouldn’t notice. 

He pointed to his stomach, mouthing ‘inside.’

“... Inside,” Grantaire finished, and Enjolras continued mouthing the words. “ _I’m not one of those… who can easily…”_ Enjolras mimed playing peekaboo around his hands. “ _Hide.”_ While trying mime the next sentence, Enjolras knocked over a plate. He ducked just as Thenardier was about to turn around. 

Grantaire threw himself at Thenardier’s feet, hugging him around the knees. “ _I don’t have much money, but boy, if I did, I’d buy a big house where we both could live.”_ Enjolras flinched as Grantaire emitted a very bizarre noise that sounded like an animal in immense pain. After the noise, Grantaire parted Thenardier’s legs so he could nod Enjolras to the door, and inhaled as if he were preparing to sing more. 

The two of them stood up slowly, singing softly, “ _I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down into words, how wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”_

Enjolras was sneaking toward the door as Thenardier’s eyes glittered. “That’s beautiful.”

“Oh, it’s from our new show _,_ ” Grantaire explained, hugging against the older man, “Suddenly, with you here, I realized the true meaning of that line. ‘How wonderful life now you’re in the world.’”

Enjolras was sneaking open the door when he saw Thenardier’s three bodyguards, Guelmer, Brujon, and Babet. He slammed the door as fast as he could, praying that they didn’t see him. 

“What meaning is that?” Thenardier asked, turning to see what the noise was. Enjolras froze. This was it, he was caught, done for--

“No! Don’t toy with my emotions like that!” Grantaire whined from across the room, throwing himself now on top of the bed. His eyes began to water, and he started to cry. “You must know the power you have over young hearts!” he sniffed, getting up again and pulling Thenardier towards the bed. “Let’s make love!”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. This whole situation had just escalated too much in a short amount of time for him to handle with no warning. 

Apparently, this was too fast for the Duke du Thenard as well. “Make love? You’re one of those people?”

“I knew you felt the same way!” Grantaire smashed his mouth against Thenardier’s wrinkled cheek. 

Enjolras wasn’t sure why he wanted to vomit, but it was probably the very attractive man from earlier--the first person he had ever thought was handsome--attempting to snog the face off a man who was old enough to be his father. Grantaire mouthed to him to get out before Thenardier saw him and killed him, but Enjolras didn’t understand.

Grantaire finally gave up, seeing that Thenardier wasn’t taking and Enjolras was turning green, and got up, pulling Thenardier’s hand. “You’re right, Too soon. We should wait until opening night,” he said, pushing him towards the door. When Thenardier started to protest, he explained, “You have a power that scares me. I don’t like being dominated. You should go.” 

“I’m really not sure what’s going on here,” Thenardier stammered, still processing the fact that Grantaire was ‘one of those people.’

“Oh, we’ll see each other plenty during rehearsal,” Grantaire replied breezily, closing the door behind his guest. Enjolras crawled out from under the table. “Do you have any--idea of what he might have done if--” Grantaire began heaving, then vomited on the floor. 

Enjolras hurried over and held Grantaire up by the shoulders. “Oh, g--Grantaire. What happened?”

“Just… the dancing shook up everything I ate,” Grantaire muttered though another round of vomit. “I hope you’re grateful. I have never done anything that stupid for anyone in my life.”

“Let’s see, I’ll get you to the bed,” Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire to the bed, but his companion protested. 

“I don’t need to! I’m fine!” he shouted, plopping back onto the mattress. Enjolras slipped on loose blanket and fell on top of him. “Great.”

Montparnasse, who was anxious to see how everything was going, peeked through the window. “Well, it’s working,” he said, shaking his head, trying to get the image of the actual Duke and Grantaire kissing as hard as it looked out of his head. “That is absolutely revolting.”

Meanwhile, Enjolras was pushing Grantaire’s hair away from his face. “Don’t touch me like that!” Grantaire snapped, shoving Enjolras’s hand away from his cheek. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, slightly sarcastically, just as the Duke du Thenard was coming back in. 

“I dropped my hat--what is this?” Thenardier looked at the pair lying on the bed, and they sat up together, Enjolras almost getting dumped on the floor. 

“We were rehearsing, sir,” Grantaire said quickly, “This is the writer of the show.”

“Rehearsing? The writer? You expect me to believe that you, who is wearing such tight clothing that it is most likely illegal is rehearsing on a bed under another man in the middle of the night?”

“It’s an emergency meeting,” Enjolras explained quickly, “I had a sudden inspiration, and I came in through the window, and accidentally jumped in on him.”

Luckily, the rest of the crew decided they were done laughing and came inside. “So, queens, should we take it from the top?” Courferyac said with a grin, swinging on the top of the window. 

Combeferre walked over to the piano in the corner and began slamming down on a couple of keys. “I hope this darn thing got tuned. It sounded terrible a week ago.”

Thenardier wasn’t convinced. “Then where is that weird, flamboyant boy of an owner?”

Just then, Montparnasse threw himself into the room, his fun, bubbly stage personality gone. “What is going on? What are you all doing up in the middle of the night? I did _not_ say you people could have slumber parties at this club! When I tell you to go to bed, I mean it!” 

“Oh, Montparnsse, we’re just having an emergency rehearsal,” Grantaire explained, winking at him. 

“I’m sure that if you need to do something, you can do it in the morning,” Montparnasse snapped. 

Bahorel, who no one had really paid any mind to up to this point, piped up, “I didn’t know you had freckles.”

“I’m not putting on makeup for _two darn minutes_ to tell kids to go back to bed!” Montparnasse growled back. 

“I think we’re all older than you. Even your spouse is older than you,” Feuilly added with a shrug. 

“Besides,” Grantaire said, putting an arm over his shoulder, which Montparnasse slapped off quickly, “The show is expected quite soon.”

“What?!” Montparnasse was practically tearing his hair out in frustration. 

“And the Duke loves our new writer’s work, he’s so efficient and spectacular at poetry,” Grantaire continued, rubbing his arm where Montparnasse had hit him. “He’s so keen on investing.” he winked at him again.

Montparnasse turned back to him. “What? Oh! Well, you can hardly blame me for trying to hide…” 

Enjolras came up behind him and whispered, “Enjolras. My name’s Enjolras.”

“Enjolras! That’s his name. Look, I’m tired, everyone,” Montparnasse sighed, leaning on the table with dark circles under his eyes. “Thenardier, why don’t we go to my office and look at some paperwork, hm? Sounds fun, relaxing, there are chairs to fall asleep in.”

“What’s the story? I want to know the story before I invest,” Thenardier asked, seating himself in the only chair in the room.

“Oh, can’t I just go to bed?” Montparnasse whined, “I haven’t seen my Flower all day, and they wanted to just have uninterrupted cuddles tonight. I promised them!”

“I’m sure you can wait on that to show me your production, only the gist, please,” Thenardier replied, and Montparnasse glared at him as if he had just killed his best friend in front of him.

Enjolras said quickly, “It’s about love.” He didn’t know why he just said that, because he didn’t have any experience with that and now he was tying himself up into something, but he couldn’t just stand there. 

The Duke raised and eyebrow. “Love? There are millions of shows about love.”

“Well, no one writes shows about love overcoming obstacles, and not just any obstacles, insanely big obstacles that everyone thinks will mean disaster for the lovers.” Enjolras retorted, glancing at Grantaire, who looked back at him in surprise. He began walking back and forth, pacing the room. 

“And what would that story be?” Thenardier asked, still unconvinced. 

“It’s set here, in France. There is a beautiful woman who a man loves, and she is a courtesan. And she’s very lonely, and there’s an evil gangster who buys her love, and she isn't happy. But there is a man she does love, who is a sailor, but he’s away a lot, but loves her. And they have a special song that they would sing to each other every night. They met by accident, because she mistook him for her gangster, but he wasn’t trying to trick her or anything. It was a mistake.” Enjolras looked quickly at Grantaire, whose eyes narrowed. “But he has to go, and when he comes back, he sees her with her evil boyfriend.”

Courfeyrac picked up the story quickly. “And so this sailor, driven mad, is determined to unseat this cad, and swears to risk his life for love! I’ll play the sailor man!” He picked up a guitar and strummed a dull note, pointing at Combeferre. “ _I love you_ \--” _strum_ “-- _baby, I ain’t ever going to stop loving you_ \--” _strum_ “- _-baby_.”

Grantaire took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around himself, then put one on his head. “I will be playing the… lovely woman.”

Courfeyrac was really getting into the part, having put a paper sailor’s hat on his head and singing, “ _Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever? Oh, take out, take me home, you’re my, my, my, my, lover_! _”_ Combeferre pulled him off the table before he hurt himself. He suddenly seemed to gain more guitar experience because he began strumming a crazy riff and pointed at Thenardier. “ _See you driving around town with the girl I love, and I’m like--_ ” Joly almost dove on top of him to shut him up. 

Thenardier backed away slowly in mild terror, saying, “So, he tries to win her hand?”

“Tell him about the can-can,” Montparnasse sighed, “That’s got to be a part of it, right? Everyone asks for it anyway.” He flopped on the bed on his face. “Jehan’s going to be so upset with me… ”

“What’s the cancan?” Thenardier asked, sitting forward and ignoring Montparnasse nearly in tears. 

“It’s a dance that captures the vibrant wild bohemian atmosphere,” Montparnasse growled from inside the pillowcase. He finally sat up, throwing his hands in the air. “Isn’t it spectacular, spectacular, no words in the vernacular?” He said sarcastically.

“Why, in fact,” Thenardier, looking surprised, “Your show actually sounds remotely interesting. I’ll invest.”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to pray that Jehan isn’t too upset with me that the seventeenth time we’ve tried to cuddle, _someone_ has dragged me out again.” Montparnasse looked up at the ceiling on the way out, praying, “Please don’t want a divorce, please don’t want a divorce…”

So the Moulin Rouge had an investor, and the performers had a show. The bohemian revolution was here. But all Enjolras could think about while he was trying to actually write the script was Grantaire. He sat on the windowsill, trying to think, but all he could think of was the pretty light blue eyes, and that he had said he loved him. Not liked him. _Loved_ him. 

Up in his own room, Grantaire was sitting, wiping the makeup off his face and taking off his supporter. He was thinking about the beautiful man who was now the writer of their show. He hadn’t been trying to trick Grantaire into anything. That was a first. But when Grantaire looked back into the full-length mirror, any hopes of it going anywhere crumbled. He took another swig from the champagne Thenardier had wanted. There was no way this ugly disaster would be able to keep Enjolras’s attentions. 

Enjolras was looking out his window, thinking about how nice it would be to sit up in that ‘perfect-for-poetry’ room and just spend time with him. Maybe he was very nice man who was just caught at a bad time. 


	4. Elephant Love Medley

Enjolras went up to Grantaire's room and knocked on the door. Grantaire opened the door, then his eyes went wide and closed the door again. 

“I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you helping me get the job,” Enjolras called through the door. He looked down at the very badly tied bouquet of flowers in his hand. “I also brought you something. And to tell you something else.”

“What is it?” Grantaire called back, hiding his face and upper body under a blanket. 

Enjolras look looked around. “I don't want to say it out here. Can I come inside?”

“I'd prefer that you don't,” Grantaire responded, and the door remained closed.

“Oh, do you need a minute?” Enjolras asked feeling his face quickly heating up.

“No, you're just going to judge me in the state I'm in,” Grantaire mumbled. “You're going to think I look terrible.”

“I promise I won't judge you,” Enjolras said, “I just want to talk.”

Grantaire opened the door, and his companion outside tipped his head to one side. “I told you I look bad. I’m not done up for performance.”

“No, you look nice. Really nice,” Enjolras said quickly, then awkwardly pushed the bouquet towards Grantaire. “Those are for you. I mean, I don't know who else they would be for, but--”

“Come in,” Grantaire grumbled, sipping from the bottle in his hand and accepting the flowers. “I wasn't expecting people tonight.”

“Sorry for the short notice. I just... wanted to thank you for helping me. I don't really know anyone here, and I'm alone,” Enjolras said, even though the voice in his head was telling him to shut up. 

“So,” Grantaire said, taking out a glass and placing the flowers in it, “You've thanked me for hiring you, what was the other thing?”

Enjolras stared at the floor. “Well... I was thinking about when you thought I was the Duke, you said that you were in love with me.”

“Oh, I say that to all my customers,” Grantaire said nonchalantly. 

“Well, you're a good actor. I kind of thought you might have meant it,” Enjolras mumbled, twisting the edge of his coat. He had never felt this silly in life, to think someone like Grantaire might ever be in love with someone like him.

Grantaire's features softened. “Alright, let me explain something. Someone like me can't fall in love with anyone. It just doesn't work that way.” He put an arm over Enjolras's shoulder and let him sit down on the bed next to him. 

“Why? I'd assume if you found the right person--” 

“I'm not going to find the right person, Enjolras,” Grantaire sighed, and with his hand against Enjolras's back, he could almost feel his heart breaking. He tugged Enjolras into a hug. “No one is going to love me in their hearts, just in my pants.”

“It's not that way to me,” Enjolras said, sitting to face him. “I came to ask if you meant it when you said you were in love with me... because I'm in love with you. Not in that way. I just want to be around you and maybe hug but you and kiss you if you wanted to, but I don't want the other thing. ”

Grantaire snorted to himself, “Funny, the man who claims to be in love with someone like me is the one who doesn't want to sleep with him.”

“Could I stay here some night? Just talking, and maybe other stuff,” Enjolras asked quietly. “You seem actually fairly nice. I don’t meet a lot of of people like that.”

“Well, we don't have anything to do up here other than that other thing,” Grantaire replied, “Besides, you have no way to pay for my services.”

“But all you'd need is love! I'm not asking anything else from you!” Enjolras pleaded.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You are being ridiculous.”

“Just one night, in the name of love?” Enjolras insisted, walking between Grantaire and the wine bottle so he had to look at him. 

“I'm not going to give in, you know that, right?” His annoyed partner huffed, walking around him to get the bottle and began to pour himself another glass.

“You know, it's funny, how easy it is to fall in love,” Enjolras said, thinking out loud, “All you have to do is play the game, find a partner, and you've won.” 

“You have never been in love, so you wouldn't how love hurts and scars people,” Grantaire replied softly, though starting to give in to the bright blue eyes. He wasn't sure if he should've stopped at the last cup, because he was feeling a little sleepy. 

“Just let me love you, just a night together. Do you just not love me?” Enjolras asked suddenly, not realizing the possibility until now.

“No, I just know that you won't be interested in me in a day or two,” Grantaire responded with an eye roll.

Enjolras followed him across the room to the window, holding up his right hand. “I swear to love you always and forever, near and far, I will be with you.”

“Stop, Enjolras, just... stop,” Grantaire snapped, then continued calmer, “I hear what you're saying, just stop explaining it, it pains me to hear you talk about things that aren't true. ”

“Grantaire, open your eyes! I am standing here, promising my _everlasting love_. How many people do you think I've done that to? None. I want to live a real life with you, maybe get married if you're all right with that. I really do love you, I think,” Enjolras added quietly. He had no idea how these romantic confessions were supposed to work, but he was fairly certain this wasn't what he was going for.

“What has love got to do with it? What is it but a second-hand emotion? Who even needs a heart when it can be broken so easily?” Grantaire sighed, wondering which one of them was going to give in.

“Well, you're breaking mine right now,” Enjolras muttered, “Suppose I never met you, we never fell into this weird but wonderful thing called love, and I kept trying and trying to write a half decent love story in order to keep my job?”

 _All of this is breaking my heart_ , Grantaire thought as Enjolras lamented, _how many hearts can be broken in a two-person conversation?_

“Even if I try not to, I can't help falling in love with you, every time I see you,” Enjolras continued, trying to take Grantaire's hands in his, and finally Grantaire let him.

“Enjolras, I'm in a really bad place for a real relationship. It's not that I don't love you, it's just... nothing is working out, nothing will keep us together,” he explained softly as Enjolras patted his shoulder, inviting Grantaire to rest his head there, which he did.

“I hate to nag you about this, but could we just steal away one night together? Please? You know it would be a day off from your usual customers--that's what you call them, right?” Enjolras asked quickly.

“That is probably the best word for them, yes,” Grantaire agreed with a quiet, contented sigh, snuggled against his lover's shoulder. “I don't like saying things like this because it's fairly painful, but I think I could get behind always loving someone like you.”

“I would always love you too, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, sitting down on the side of the bed with Grantaire next to him, still relaxed. He gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead, which seemed to perk him up bit. 

Grantaire looked up at his partner and smiled. He looked so pretty in the candlelight. “You're going to be bad for business, I can tell,” he laughed, giving Enjolras a kiss on the cheek, “You can stay. Come here.” He tugged him in a tight embrace.


	5. No Sympathy for the Duke

Montparnasse dragged his feet to the office. He knew this meeting couldn't last too much longer. 

“So, that boy, Grantaire is certainly something,” Thenardier said slowly.

“I know, when his mother showed up and told me he needed a job, that's what she said,” Montparnasse said, rubbing his forehead. His mind was already trying to explain what happened to Jehan. It wasn't going well. 

Thenardier looked at a poster on the wall of Samantha Barks. “That's a famous singer, isn't it? If I recall, she doesn't sing to my taste.”

“It's Brittany, jerk,” was the distracted response as Montparnasse shuffled papers around on his desk. He had met her once, and precede to forget the meeting altogether. 

“So, to convert the Moulin Rouge to a theatre, I would need a contract that binds Grantaire to me so he’ll be my employee--you understand, as payment,” Thenardier explained. “I will have dinner with him tomorrow to get him used to me.”

“Why?” Montparnasse asked suspiciously.

“It's not that I have a problem--” Thenardier's voice began to rise significantly “I just don't like other people touching my stuff! Don’t you understand that?”

“That still isn't answering my question,” Montparnasse grumbled. He had enough of people for the day.

“Montparnasse, it's not personal--” Thenardier began to say, but Montparnasse was done with this garbage.

“My spouse is going to want a divorce because I haven't been able to be a husband to them for weeks!” He shouted.

Thenardier rolled his eyes. “Wow.”

“My spouse is going to want a divorce and it's _your_ fault!” Montparnasse got up, paced a while, then sat back down. “Where were we, dear Duke?” He was actually thinking, _I hate your face and I want to smash it_.

“I would also need the deeds to this establishment, just to keep them safe, you know, and if anything goes awry, my bodyguards will take care of it in the only language your bohemians will understand,” Thenardier said with a disturbing grin on his face.

Montparnasse groaned, digging through his desk and muttering, “I tried earlier to talk to you and be your friend, but that's like trying to be friends with an evil snail.” He produced the papers and signed them, throwing them in a cloud of processed tree.

Thenardier nodded, picked them off the ground, and began making his way out. Montparnasse stood in their doorway, calling after him, “Just remember, you took a life today. The life of the party.” He slammed the door and hurried to his apartment, praying for Jehan to still be there.


	6. Backstage Romance

But Grantaire did not see the Duke the next day or any of the days after that. Enjolras and Grantaire were able to curb any of the Duke's antics simply by claiming to be practicing for the show all the time. They did practice a little bit, but mostly it was just spent curled up together talking about anything. 

Enjolras told Grantaire about leading the revolution, and Grantaire thought the idea was stupid, and Grantaire told Enjolras about some very strange customers, which was an interesting conversation in itself. And they definitely left time for just cuddling. They both loved each other a lot, and would sometimes hide in the sets for the show and shower each other in affection. 

During group rehearsal, Enjolras was a mess, holding Grantaire's hand and intermittently giving it a kiss while Grantaire was talking, so he would lose his train of thought. Not that he minded. Everyone would start scolding him, but no one was really mad. They all understood what this meant to both of them. Besides, they were crazy in love with their partners themselves. 

Montparnasse, however, was the most irritable person in the whole club, snapping at everyone when he caught them together. No one really knew exactly what had happened, they hadn’t seen Jehan around, and every morning Montparnasse kept checking the mail for any letters. 

One day, he found Grantaire in a dreamy state after spending time with Enjolras, and he was giggling. Those were two things that Grantaire did not do. He did not giggle or look dreamy. He just didn’t.

“Grantaire, what do you think you’re doing?” he growled at him. 

“I think I’m just a little in love with Enjolras, that’s all,” Grantaire replied casually, starting to walk away then bumped into a table. “Oops.”

Montparnasse grabbed his arm. “Why don’t you spend time with Thenardier? He’s making time for you, and wants to do everything for you.”

“I just love someone else, simple,” Grantaire replied. 

“You don’t understand this yet, but if you let go someone who actually makes time for you and is a good person to you--” Montparnasse was getting choked up “--then you’ll lose something special. Believe me, you don’t want someone to let go because you didn’t try hard enough. I know how that feels.” he walked away, saying, “Drop the writer. I don’t want you to hurt someone.”


	7. Only a Man in a Material World

But Grantaire never showed for dinner with the Duke that night either. 

Thenardier paced around the room again, getting impatient. Finally, he called Montparnasse. “Where is he?”

Montparnasse’s eyes widened. _Great._ “Oh, he went to confession. At the church. With the Bishop of Digne.”

“And why, my boy, would he do that?” Thenardeir asked, twirling his watch chain around his finger. 

“First of, all, call me your boy again and it will be the last thing you say,” Montparnasse snapped, wiping his eyes, then wiping the black eyeliner on his coat-sleeve. “Second of all, he wanted to… start a new chapter. You know. He thinks you're going to be nice, though I doubt that.” He hoped this would be over soon so he could go back to crying alone in his room. 

Thenardier grinned at him schemingly. “Are you joking, Montparnasse? I’m going to make him feel like he’s the only man in the world, under my care.”

“You do realize that he is a grown man and you would be there, so obviously he’d know that there are other men in the world,” Montparnasse argued. 

“Are there other men who will be as _understanding_ as me?” Thenardier asked, “I know a _love_ ly young lady who would be just his type of person, to fill every void in his sweet little heart.” And he continued grinning, quite unsettling to Montparnasse, so much so that the younger man left the room shaking his head. 

This whole thing was starting to lose his interest. Especially with Thenardier treating him like he was a baby. He was a grown married--well, that was a questionable and touchy subject at the moment--man, for goodness’s sake. He could run his own club, thank you very much.


	8. Come What May

One day, Enjolras said, “I had a lot of energy last night, and I wrote a song. It’s for the show, the special song that the courtesan recognizes as the sailor’s.” 

“How does it go?” Grantaire asked interestedly. 

Enjolras sat down after piano, looking at it as if it were a sleeping monster. “I haven't played one in ages, so forgive me.” He set the lyrics on the top, then began playing a very broken piece that could have been Mozart, or Beethoven, or maybe even Tchaikovsky. No one could tell what it was supposed to be.

Grantaire grinned at him, leaning over the top. “Nice job, maestro,” he laughed.

“Thanks.” Enjolras cleared his throat. “So, this one is the special sonny we were talking about. It is suddenly mushy, So keep your cynicisms to yourself.” Grantaire made a face. Enjolras ignored it. “The person who is playing the sailor will sing this part here--I'll do it for now, and housing this when I give you a cue.” He handed his friend another sheet of music. 

“So do I just wait for you to be done?” Grantaire asked, looking over the notes. Enjolras nodded, taking a deep breath. He wasn't sure how good he was at writing songs, but he was about to find out.

“ _Never knew, I could feel like this, l like I've never seen the sky before, want to vanish, inside your kiss, every day I love you more and more, listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything, seasons may change, winter to spring, but I'll love you, until the end of time, Come What May, Come What May, I will love you, until my dying day_.”

Grantaire stared at him during the in-between instrumental part, then Enjolras gave him the cue of nodding.

“ _Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace, suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste.”_

They both sang together, “ _It all revolves around you. And there’s no mountain too high, no river too high, sing out this song and I’ll be there by your side, storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide, but I love you until the end of time, Come What May, Come What May, I will love you…”_

Grantaire finished, _“Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place_.” 

Courfeyrac wiped his eyes. “That was beautiful.” Everyone else agreed, and Courfeyrac grabbed the paper to start practicing his part. His ‘rehearsing assistant’ was Combeferre, and like Enjolras and Grantaire, was probably not getting much of anything done, but he could remember lines, so they couldn’t argue with that. 

Grantaire kept staring at Enjolras. “Did you write that… for us?”

“Oh. I didn’t know it was that obvious,” Enjolras said with a shrug. He sat up quickly. “Did you like it? Because I can revise it if you want anything changed, or taken out, or--”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire interrupted him, sitting down on the bench, “I loved it. It was really pretty.” 

During full-cast rehearsal, Grantaire was an excellent actor, and surprisingly looked great in the ridiculous gown, wig, and makeup that he had to wear to play the courtesan. Even the set designers, Eponine and Marius, who knew nothing of makeup and such things, had to agree that their girlfriend Cosette was a genius with contour. Still, no one had an answer for why men were playing women when there was Musichetta, an able-bodied woman who could do it, but she was all right with playing the boy roles. 

Enjolras had to help Bossuet with his song, though, telling him that “The second mate has to run across the gangplank singing, ‘ _The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return._ ’ Got it?”

Bossuet read over the paper again, then shrugged. “I’ll at least remember the general idea. Might not be poetic, but it’ll be good enough.”

Finally, though, Grantaire could not keep himself from meeting with Thenardier. The only comfort for him was that Enjolras was allowed to come along. Thenardier didn’t notice how much their eyes sparkled at each other, but it drove Montparnasse crazy. 

At the open rehearsal where Thenardier could view their work, Joly and Musichetta were watching Marius lifting the sailor’s skeleton of a boat onto the stage. Joly said, “You know, this ending’s good. The courtesan doesn’t go for the money, she goes for the penniless writer--shoot, I mean sailor.” 

Musichetta put her hand over his mouth. “Why would you say that?” he replied with a shrug. 

Thenardier had been sitting a few yards away, and his ears perked up. The wheels began turning in his mind. Grantaire wasn’t avoiding his meetings because he was practicing, oh no, he was just too wrapped up in the handsome young writer to be bothered to show up.

The demonstration went very smoothly, Everyone had learned the words to ‘Come What May’ well, and Montparnasse was crying at the end; but it may have been because he had just gotten back from sending a sloppily handwritten--he wasn’t good at writing or reading--note. 

Everyone struck their final pose, but the Duke was frowning. “I don’t like this ending.” The cast stared at him as he stood up. “Why would the lady go for the penniless sailor, who has nothing, instead of a rich man who will guarantee the life she’s always wanted? Once the sailor has satisfied himself, he’ll leave the poor girl with nothing. I suggest that the ending should be that she chooses the gangster.” The group gasped. “And cut the lovers’ special song.”

“But that’s not what we believe in!” called Courfeyrac from his place on stage, with Grantaire’s knee in his face, “There’s no freedom, beauty, truth or love in any of--”

“I don’t care about your ridiculous fairytales! Why shouldn’t she choose the gangster?” Thenardier insisted. 

“Because he’s happy with me!” Enjolras shouted, frustrated, and the room went dead quiet. He corrected himself, but not quite in time. “Him. She’s happy with him, the sailor.”

“Oh. I see how it is. Montparnasse, we need to have the ending rewritten, with the gangster as the winner, and without the stupid love song,” Thenardier sighed, pretending to pick at his watch.

Montparnasse groaned, his face flat in his handkerchief. “But we just got all that down… it’ll take a million years to get it right…”

Grantaire jumped up. “Oh, Montparnasse, leave him alone. The poor Duke has been treated appallingly.” He stepped down off the stage, giving Enjolras meaningful look to not interrupt. “These silly writers go all over the place. Now, why don’t we have a nice dinner, and talk over what you’vce wanted to speak to me about, hm? And we can talk about how you’d prefer the ending to be.”

Thenarder breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he wasn’t being avoided. “Certainly.”


	9. Tango de Roxanne

Grantaire was getting ready for his business meeting when Enjolras knocked on his dressing room door. 

“You can’t be serious about this,” he said desperately, but Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“He could destroy everything that’s going on around here,” he said, but Enjolras shook his head. “You promised me once that you wouldn’t get possessive. It’s going to be fine.” 

His companion shook his head again, sitting down on a small chair. “No, it won’t. He’s going to try and take you away. He might hurt you.” 

Grantaire hugged Enjolras tightly, whispering, “ _Come What May, Come What May, I will love you…”_

This didn’t help much, but he let Grantaire leave the room with a quick kiss on the forehead. 

So Grantaire was taking care of the situation, and all anyone else could do was wait. As they waited, Combeferre began trying to explain what made a good, healthy relationship to Enjolras, since he wanted to know if he was being a good partner to Grantaire. It was mostly trivial things; don’t put them down, don’t make them do anything they don’t want to do, listen to each other, you laugh--

Clasquous, the lighting manager, placed a hand on Courfeyrac's arm. Courfeyrac pushed it off, but Clasquous was persistent. “Shouldn’t you be off practicing right now?”

“Leave me alone!” Courfeyrac snapped, “I’ll do things when I want to!” 

Combeferre jumped up and pressed Courfeyrac against the wall and nearly punched Clasquous. “Don't touch him again,” he growled. Clasquous left the room. 

Courfeyrac looked up into Combeferre's eyes. “You're not usually that tough.”

“Only for you,” Combeferre said to him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. He looked up to Enjolras sadly. “Never fall in love with someone who sells themselves, as a related subject. It always ends badly. You start by being in love, and it's so wonderful, then you start getting jealous of her customers. It just gets worse from there.” He hugged Courfeyrac to himself. “I wanted such a good life for us, and look what’s happened.”

“It is, but not exactly what we wanted,” Courfeyrac whispered back, giving him a quite intimate-looking kiss in front of everyone.

Enjolras had buried his face in his lap, trying to block out everything, but he kept seeing what could happen if Grantaire were to get hired by Thenardier. Based on Grantaire’s skills, besides the amount of alcohol one could consume in one night, who knew what Thenardier would make him do. Try as he might to not think about iot, Enjorlas couldn’t help picturing a stranger's eyes on Grantaire's face, their hands together, this random unnamed stranger being alone with him for as long as he wished… 

Tears stung in his eyes as he mumbled, “Why couldn't I have begged him not to wear that outfit? To not go with Thenardier? To stay here and not have to take this offer?” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Why couldn't be just say he was busy again?”

Enjolras finally excused himself to go up to his room. On the way, he looked up at the balcony, and could see Grantaire, who waved. Enjolras was sure that Grantaire would visit him after the meeting, and he would know for sure that everything was fine.

\----

But everything wasn’t fine. Grantaire had gone up to dinner, as planned, then Thenardier decided to try enticing him to work for him by offering anything Grantaire could hope for. He wasn’t impressed, however. He just stared out off the balcony, watching the people going by. Then he caught sight of Enjolras, and without thinking, waved to him. 

Thenardier stopped talking and looked out the window with Grantaire. “Ah, our own little sailor man.” He grabbed Grantaire’s arm and pulled him inside, pressing him against the wall. “You made me believe that I would have you by the end of this show.” He pushed him onto the ground and kicked him. “I _will_ have this show run my way, the gangster _will_ get the courtesan as his employee.”

Bahorel, who had been waiting outside the door to ensure privacy, heard the commotion in the dining room and went inside. “What’s going--” He saw Grantaire trying to hide under the table, and Bahorel turned just in time to punch Thenardier in the face before he grabbed Grantaire again. Thenardier bounced off his fist, then landed on the floor with a dull _thump._

Grantaire looked up, then cautiously crawled out from under the table. He looked down at the unconscious Duke, then began crying. Bahorel carried him to Enjolras’s place. He knew that Grantaire was safe there. 

\----

Enjolras was curled up reading when Bahorel came in with a shaking Grantaire on his shoulder. He placed him on the bed, and Grantaire must’ve sensed Enjolras’s presence, because he instantly snuggled up to him. 

“I told him no, and he almost killed me,” Grantaire sobbed, “I couldn’t do it. I can’t do that to you. I love you.”

Enjolras wrapped his arms protectively around him, trying his best to comfort his love. “It’s all right, you’re out of there now.” He reached over to the side table and poured a glass of wine for his trembling companion.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Grantaire siad, sipping from the cup and feeling the tingly sensation already. 

“I don’t,” Enjolras explained, “I just got it so you’d have something if you wanted to visit.”

“I just couldn’t deal with it,” Grantaire continued, “I didn’t want to live with that. And he knows. He knows about everything. He saw you, and he’s going to want you dead.”

“Oh, whatever,” Enjolras said with a shrug and a smile, making Grantaire smile a little in spite of himself, “We can leave in the morning. Everyone will understand. Don’t worry about the show. Once this all blows over, if you want, we can come back.”

“Well, I don’t know of any more sought-after actor in the world,” Enjolras said, “Montparnasse is bound to take you back if you left.” He began to slide out of bed. “Now, why don’t you go pack your things, while I get my stuff together and get some actual pants on--oh, don’t tell me you’ve never slept in a nightgown before.” he rolled his eyes at the look on Grantaire’s face.

As they were leaving, Grantaire turned back to Enjolras. “This is all your fault. I’m playing into the cliches. How wonderful life actually is while you’re in the world.”

Grantaire perked up hopefully. “You think we could?”


	10. Crazy Rolling

Back in the dining room, Thenardier had woken up and was furious. He had instantly bade Montparnasse to come, who was also fed up, and when he found out that Bahorel had punched him in the face, he was jealous of Bahorel. 

“I’ve got to get him back in here,” Thenardier said, as Guelemer and Babet cleaned his face. He had been hit by Bahorel’s engagement ring from Feuilly, and it had cut him bad. “He’s bewitched him with words. Tell him that if the show doesn’t end my way and he works for me after the curtain falls, well… let’s just say we’ll find out if his little Apollo is really an immortal god.”

Montparnasse whipped around. “I’m sorry, what did you just say to me? That you’re committing murder under my roof that I did not authorize?”

“Yes.” Thenardier gestured for Brujon to check his gun and make sure it was ready. 

\----

Grantaire was running up to his room, trying not to start singing with joy. He was going to leave, finally, go somewhere wonderful, even if it was just an old flat, it would be a castle with Enjolras in it. 

He tossed his things into a large bag. Bahorel helped, even though he would miss his old friend. He knew that there lay a world that Granatire could thrive in, more people to act for, more wine to taste--no joke there. 

Montparnasse walked in, saying, “Forgive the bluntness, but you need to dump your boyfriend, or else the Duke is going to shoot him.”

Grantaire turned around and put his hands on his hips. “You know what? No. All you’ve done for me is make me believe I’m not worth any more than what people pay me! I’m done.”

“Unless you go tomorrow night, that wack job is going to mess everything up,” Montparnasse tried to reason. 

“Montparnasse, this man loves me even though what I do for a job is strange, jealousy-evoking, and quite frankly probably illegal,” Grantaire snapped, “And he’s worth everything to me. If you’ve ever been in love with someone, you’d understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find Jehan to say goodbye.”

Montparnasse looked at the floor. “They left. And I don’t think they’re coming back to me.” His voice was choked, and he was trying to keep a straight face, but his lip was trembling. “Because I’m an awful husband.”

“Oh.” Grantaire glanced up. “I wish I had known.” He looked closer at his face. “Are you crying?”

“Yes, do you have a problem with that? I’m sorry I miss the love of my life.” Montparnasse brushed his eyes again, then said, “Send Enjolras away.”

“You know he’ll fight to be with me,” Grantaire replied, “He hates the Duke as much as I do.”

“And you think I want to have a tea party with that man? He’ll fight for you, unless you don’t love him.” Montparnasse took one look at Grantaire’s horrified face and explained, “You’re good at acting, that’s why I hired you. Make him believe it. Hurt to save him, if you will.” He took a shaky breath, then continued, “We’re creatures of the underworld, Grantaire. We can’t afford to be in love.”

He left the room, hands in his pockets, leaving Grantaire in shock. He sat down at the mirror, staring at his own face. The makeup that had been applied earlier was flaking off. Grantaire took a wipe and began cleaning off the mess, uncovering the face he always strove to hide. But Enjolras loved it, he didn’t mind it, he even sometimes would ask him if he wanted to clean off the mask when they were together. And he always did. He liked seeing his own face smiling, it looked less ugly to him when that happened. But Enjorlas always seemed to think he was really pretty. He couldn’t let that go. 

Montparnasse was outside the room, talking to himself. “Another mindless pantomime, I don’t even know why I’m alive right now. All I’ve lived for is Jehan, and this club, now my Flower’s been taken away and this whole place is going to trash. But I still have to push on like nothing’s happened. The show has to go on.”

Grantaire came out of his room, dressed in entirely black, his makeup reapplied, and didn’t look at Montparnasse. He walked all the way to Enjolras’s room. He had come to a decision.

\----

Enjolras heard the door open, he looked up excitedly. He was finally going to run away with a wonderful man, like all of the heroines he had read about in his books. 

Grantaire stood in the doorway. “I'm going to stay with the Duke.”

“What?” Enjolras said softly, not wanting to believe it. That did not sound like that was supposed to happen.

“After I left you, he promised me everything I could ever want in relationship.” Grantaire smiled. Enjolras could feel his heart crumbling. The smile flickered as Grantaire continued, “Including what you couldn't.”

“You told me that wasn't important to you,” Enjolras managed to say, “and you liked that I didn't want that from you.”

“Well, things change,” Grantaire replied, “You've never been in love with someone, so you wouldn't understand.” He continued, his insides churning. 

“Something’s wrong here. What are you saying, Grantaire?” Enjolras said, grabbing his arm.

Grantaire was silent for a moment, then said, “I am the courtesan in your story. And I chose the gangster.” He stepped out of the room and started walking away, wiping his eyes. 

Enjolras was heartbroken, and angry, and confused all at the same time. He didn’t know why this was happening. Everything had seemed perfect last night. He now knew what heartbreak felt like, and he just wanted it to end. 

He watched Grantaire walk down the stairs, all the way to the stage area. He checked that no one was in the hallway, then closed door and broke down crying. This was crazy, being so deep in love to have the love of his life break his heart to pieces, with no good reason why. 

Finally, he left the building, walking around in circles until Joly and Bossuet caught him on his fifth round on their corner. They brought him inside, and five hours walking around in the cold could make someone nearly freeze. He was barely conscious, and pale, tired, and his eyes were red with frozen tears. 

They bundled him up in their one bed--they couldn’t afford any more--and Musichetta had to force some food into him. The trouple finally got out of him what had happened, and they couldn’t believe that Grantaire would do that to him. 

“He wouldn’t do that,” Bossuet said, shaking his head, “He never would drop someone so hard.”

“Leave me alone,” Enjolras mumbled from the depths of the blankets. So the three of them left him alone for about half an hour, then Musichetta went in to check on him. He hadn’t moved. 

She sat down on the side of the bed, smoothing the wrinkles. “Things aren’t always as they seem.” Enjolras shook his head. “Enjolras, you may see me as a poor girl who plays boy roles in the plays, but I know love. He would come in here, telling us all about how pretty your eyes were, how nice his life was now that he had someone who loved him, all of that. Grantaire loves you. I know he loves you.”

“Go away,” Enjolras groaned. She stayed. “Come on, give me some space.” Finally, after a few tries, she left. 

Enjolras wanted to shut out everything Musichetta had just told him, but she had filled him with doubt. There was only one way to be perfectly sure that Grantaire was completely finished with him. He had to know, so he decided to go back to the Moulin Rouge one last time. 


	11. Come What May (Reprise)

Back at the Moulin Rouge, everyone was preparing for the play. Well, Montparnasse was waiting feverishly by the door, as if he were expecting someone. Combeferre had never played an evil character, and even Courferyac thought he wasn’t the right person to play the gangster. Musichetta was less soft, so he was concerned he would mess it up. 

Courfeyrac was getting anxious about playing the sailor, because now the ending was changed so his ‘lover’ had to get stolen by his actual lover, so that was weird. Grantaire was getting dressed for the part, wearing the freakish dress with pants and a shirt under it, and beneath that, he was trying to get Joly to tie the tightener tighter.

“Come on, I can take it, just pull it,” he was saying, and Joly was wincing in sympathy.

“You realize that no one is actually this small around,” he said, “You’re going to die out there.”

“I’ve worn it tighter,” Grantaire lied. “But I guess if it won’t go anymore, could you just tie it there?”

Joly quickly loosened it just tiny bit, then tied the strings together and handed Grantaire the dress. “Good luck out there.”

Grantaire wiped his eyes again and nodded. He pushed the wig out of his face. Dressing as a woman was fine, but today, he wasn’t having it. He could hear Combeferre going off on the gangster’s monologue. He could remember it, but he was saying it like a sweet grandmother, which isn’t a gangster. Grantaire could see Courferyac was not doing a good job hiding his moony eyes. No matter what part Combeferre was playing, or whether he played that part well or not, Courfeyrac thought he was adorable. In other words, this show was already falling apart.

It was time for his song. Grantaire stood up straight and winced. Maybe not so tight next time. He pried on the dress, then walked as attractively as he could out onto the stage. “ _A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girl’s best friend._ ”

Combeferre came up behind him, said, “Excuse me,” then put his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders and continued louder in a monotone voice, “She is going to stay with me.”

“He is going to stay with me,” Thenardier said softly from his seat where no one could hear. 

Backstage, Musichetta was pacing around, wearing her blue sailor outfit. Bossuet was a similar costume, but he had a quite long brown wig covering his bald head and a hat that read ‘Ahoy!’. Courfeyrac was trying to get his jacket to fit right, while watching Combeferre sort-of acting. Musichetta said, “I can’t imagine that Grantaire would do that to Enjolras. He has such a big heart.”

“No one falls out of love that fast,” Courfeyrac said, then seemed to come to a decision that no one had seen him contemplating. He turned around and walked down the hallway towards the door. The door opened and he smacked right into the person he wanted to see--Enjolras. 

“Hello, there,” Enjolras said seriously, then jumped when Courferyac threw his sailor coat over his shoulders. 

“You should be getting your original ending,” He said, patting his shoulder. “Go out there and get him back.”

On stage, Combeferre was trying to lift a sword that he had never been able to lift in rehearsal. “I raise--ow--my ceremonial--curse this stupid thing--wedding sword”--clank--“and welcome my loyal subjects to join us in celebration of our sacred union.”

Bossuet was heading up to a platform with Musichetta to watch the show. “This is nice.”

“It would be better with the old ending, the one Enjolras wrote,” Musichetta replied softly. She looked down to see Guelemer, Babet, and Brujon approaching Montparnasse, who was still standing at the backstage door. 

“That boy’s here,” One of them informed him, and his eyes widened. 

“I told Grantaire to get him out of here or he was going to get killed,” Montparnasse groaned. 

“Oh, don’t worry yourself, sir, we’ll take care of it,” Another one said, and they began walking away.

Montparnasse stared after them in shock. “Flower would never have wanted this.”

Musichetta narrowed her eyes. “That’s what he was doing. He was pushing him away so he didn’t die. He was hurting him to save him.” She stepped down a little, and the platform shifted. “Enjolras!”

Enjorlas was already at Grantaire’s dressing room, knocking. “Grantaire, it’s me. I’m here to pay my bill.”

“Get out, you shouldn’t be here,” Grantaire snapped, opening the door and pushing past him.

Enjolras caught his arm. “You made me believe you loved me. Why shouldn’t I pay like everyone else does? You did your job so very well.”

“I have to get on stage right now,” Grantaire hissed, trying to pull away, but Enjolras still had a firm grip. 

Combeferre was shouting stiffly, “Jealousy has driven the sailor into hiding! But I have found them!”

“There’s no point, Enjolras, just get out of here,” Grantaire pleaded, still struggling against him.

Musichetta called to Bossuet, “We have to warn him!” 

The bodyguards were already following the struggling pair, who were wandering somewhere near the stage. Grantaire caught sight of them and whispered, “Thenardier’s men are right behind you! Just go, please just go!” His eyes were watering, and he could barely breathe, with the combination of the tightener and the sobs.

“I don’t care, I just want to pay you, then I’ll be done in here,” Enjolras replied.

Musichetta was trying to walk off of the beam, but it shifted again under her weight, and Bossuet shouted, “Whoa!” She turned around just in time to see him topple over the side. She raced to grab his hand, but now he was hanging off by one hand. He shuddered, loosening Musichetta’s grip. “I’m scared.”

“I will not let go of you, Bossuet, I promise,” she said, trying to tighten her hold on his wrist. “We need help.”

“Let the palace doors be opened!” Combeferre called. On cue, the doors opened, revealing Enjolras and Grantaire, in costume, still tussling. The bodyguards crouched around the corner, knowing they couldn’t show themselves. Thenardier could tell it was Enjolras though. Courfeyrac looked too different. 

Combeferre, realizing the problem, tried to continue on, “ Ha! I am not fooled! Though he has… bleached his hair… and curled it… and changed his eye color… mine eyes don’t lie! It is the poor sailor boy!” The audience gasped, buying the act. “Driven mad by jealousy!” Combeferre continued.

Up above, Musichetta was trying to hold onto Bossuet, but he was slipping quickly. Then she caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye. “Joly! Help!” 

Joly hurried over and tired to reach Bossuet’s other hand. Bossuet, on the other hand, was panicking. “I can’t even remember my line. Why do you two put up with my stupidity? Why are you still holding on?”

“Because we love you,” Joly said firmly, without hesitation, and pulled him up into his arms. Musichetta hugged them both, kissing them both all over their faces, which added up to a lot of kisses. 

Enjolras pulled Grantaire to the middle of the stage, then released his hold. He faced Thenardier. “This woman is yours now.” He tossed a fair amount of money in front of Grantaire, who coughed. “I’ve paid this drunken cynic.” The audience gasped, and Grantaire curled up on the floor, sobbing. Enjolras continued, “I owe you nothing. And you are nothing to me. Thank you for curing my obsession with love.” He began making his way down the isle and towards the back of the Moulin Rouge. 

Combeferre, to cover up the disaster, announced, “This sailor doesn’t love you. See, he flees the kingdom.” He kelt next to Grantaire, who looked like he wanted to die right there. “It’s for the best, Grantaire.” He continued loudly, “And now, my bride, it is time for you to raise your voice to the heavens.”

“I remember my line!” Bossuet said, jumping up, but just that extra pressure, caused the platform rope to snap one thread. “Enjolras!” Enjolras looked up. Bossuet took a deep breath then sang out in a loud voice, over the second thread snapping, his full song. “ _There was a boy, a very strange, enchanted boy, they say he wandered, very far, very far, over land and sea, a little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he, and then one day, one magic day, he passed my way, while we spoke, of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me, ‘The greatest thing, you'll ever learn, is just to love and, be loved in return’!_ ” 

Grantaire realized, looking at Enjolras this last time, that he was the only thing he believed in. Not the bohemian ideals, not the Moulin Rouge, just Enjolras. He began singing quietly, “ _Never knew I could feel like this, it's like I've never seen the sky before, want to vanish inside your kiss, every day I'm loving you more and more, listen to my heart can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything, seasons may change winter to spring, I love you, until the end of time.”_

Enjolras turned, singing, “ _Come What May! Come What May! Come What May! Come What May! I will love you, until my dying day!”_

Feuilly spotted the Duke from the wings, and yelled, “Enjolras! Get out out here, quick! He’s got a gun pointed at the stage!” 

Enjolras called out, “Long live the bohemian revolution! Long live the bohemian revolution! I am one of them!” He went up to the stage with a firm stride and placed himself in front of the Duke beside Grantaire. “They’ll have to kill us both with one blow,” said he. And turning gently to face Grantaire, he said to him, “Will you permit it?”

Grantaire pressed his hand with a smile. This smile was not yet ended when the report resounded. 

The Duke shouted, “This play will end my way, or not at all!”

The body guards ran up towards the stage, but right above them, Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet were clinging on for dear life as the last thread of the rope separating them from life and death snapped. 

Feuilly and Bahorel hurried over to catch them, but they didn’t quite make it in time. Just as Guelemer, Babet, and Brujon had their target fixed, the trio fell on top of them, knocking them to the ground. 

“Well, that was fun,” Bossuet said cheerfully, standing up and brushing the dust off his coat. 

“I’m going to need to check both of you for broken bones later,” Joly muttered, helping Musichetta from under Babet.

Montparnasse was helplessly watching his show go to shambles. “Oh my--why did I show up today?”

A voice called softly from the doorway, “Montparnasse? What's happening?”

Montparnasse turned to see who was speaking. There was Jehan, holding their suitcase against their chest, staring at the floor. “Sorry I’m late.” they said sheepishly, “I know you said it was starting at seven, but then I had to walk across the city and it was cold and--”

Montparnasse put a hand over his mouth, raced over and swept Jehan into his arms. “I am so sorry about everything; I missed you so much, you have no idea; I'll try to be home every night, I promise--”

“No, don't worry, I understand now,” Jehan whispered, giving their spouse a kiss, and Montparnasse nearly melted onto the floor, holding them tightly.

“Montparnasse, what is the meaning of this?” Thenardier snapped, turning his gun from the pair on stage to the pair in the wings. “This is not how I want my theatre run.”

“Montie?” Jehan said, sounding scared, cowering in his arms. 

Montparnasse turned slowly to face Thenardier with murder in his eyes. “How _dare_ you threaten my spouse.” he turned to Jehan. “Flower, I fear I will have to leave you for one moment, but _I promise_ , I will be right back.” He let go of Jehan, stalking towards Thenardier with his arms folded. “You almost destroyed my marriage, and the rest of my life. Give me the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. And the contract to Grantaire.” He reached in his waistband and produced a knife. “Now.”

This was enough for Thenardier to throw the papers at him, backing away in defeat. He backed right into Enjolras. His face was more terrifying than Montparnasse’s. “You get one minute to either leave or pray.” 

“Pray? Why would I have to pray?” Thenardier stammered, fearing the answer. 

Enjolras pushed him on the ground, growling into his ear, “You'll find out of you don't leave.” Thenardier heard the click of a gun being cocked, and he stood up and sprinted from the theatre. 

Enjolras turned to face the stage, where Grantaire was smirking at him. “What? What did I do?”

Grantaire laughed, “You're a tough boy, aren't you?”

His lover looked at the prop gun in his hand, then back at Grantaire with a shrug. “What can I say?” Grantaire looked back at the gun. Enjolras suddenly looked slightly guilty. “I love you!” He called, dropping the prop and began walking up to the stage.

Grantaire greeted him with a hug. “ _Until the end of time_ ,” he said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He looked him up and down. “You’re alive.”

“I’m alive,” Enjorlas replied, “I am so alive.”

Feuilly shouted to the cast, “Stand by everyone! Role call, just to be sure everyone’s still here! I have to do this because it looks like Montparnasse is… busy.” He rolled his eyes at Montparnasse holding Jehan close to himself and covering their whole face with kisses. Jehan wasn’t fighting anything.

Combeferre removed his leather suit, and Courfeyrac placed his glasses on his nose. “I was terrible, say it.”

“Never; you were excellent, as always,” Courfeyrac said, shaking his head and giving him a kiss.

Grantaire and Enjolras stood together, waiting for the curtain call, when suddenly Grantaire swayed and toppled over. 

“Grantaire! What happened? What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked quickly, catching Grantaire in his arms and sliding onto the floor. Grantaire was unconscious, and he looked pale. “Someone get some help!”

Jehan squirmed out of Montparnasses arms--much to their husband’s disappointment--and called, “Try untying him!” When Enjolras gave them a strange look, they explained, “ He wears a tightener because he thinks it’ll draw more customers. But it’s too tight, he doesn’t know it’s hurting him.”

With this knowledge, Enjolras undid the buttons of Grantaire’s shirt and broke the laces holding the tightener against his partner. Grantaire gasped, opening his eyes, and Enjolras hugged him tightly. 

“I told you not to wear that thing, it’s going to kill you,” he whispered into Grantaire’s hair.

“But--” Grantaire tried to protest.

“No. I can’t lose you, Grantaire. Please?” Enjolras begged him. “You look amazing how you are.”

Grantaire sat up. He looked at the broken tightener on the floor next to him, then buttoned up his shirt the way it was. “You’re not worth losing over that.”

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And then one not so very special day, Enjolras went to his typewriter, sat down, and he wrote their story. A story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things, a story about love. A love that will live forever. 'The end.'

Or so you thought. 


	12. More! More! More!

One night, just for fun, the cast and crew of the Moulin Rouge decided to do a one-night performance of various songs that were definitely not from musicals. 

Bahorel walked out on stage in a long magenta jacket, his black curly hair cut a little shorter, and sang out to the audience, _“France is following us to revolution, there is no more status quo. But the sun comes up and the world still spins. I helped Lafayette draft a declaration, then I said, ‘I gotta go. I gotta be in Monticello, where the work at home begins...’”_ Bahorel shouted loudly, received with applause, _“So What’d I Miss? What’d I Miss? Virginia my home sweet home, I want to give you a kiss. Mwha! I’ve been in France meeting lots of different ladies, I guess basically missed the late eighties. I’ve traveled the whole wide world to come back to this!”_

Musichetta was trying to get Bossuet into his sparkling jumpsuit without being blinded by the glittering light. It was quite glorious, though fairly annoying right now. 

“I look stupid,” Bossuet grumbled.

“You look fabulous,” Musichetta argued, trying to find the other pin that was suppose to hold the back together.

“What about the segment where we get audience members to join in? No one will dance with me.”

“Don’t become Grantaire,” Musichetta scolded, “You are pleasant and fairly optimistic person who just happens to not have that great of luck. You are not a pessimistic drunken person who happened to get a revolutionary for a partner. Besides, I will dance with you if you have no one else.”

“All right, if you say so,” Bossuet said with a shrug. 

She got him zipped up and she, Bossuet, and Joly hobbled as fast as they could towards the stage wearing ridiculous platform heels. 

They strutted out on stage, and Joly looked strangely excited. Part of the routine would involve going out into the audience and trying to get them to sing with them. 

The men beatboxed and Musichetta began singing, _“Tonight the super trouper lights are gonna find me. But I won't feel blue. Like I always do. 'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you_ .”

The music picked up some other instruments, and Bossuet continued, “ _I was sick and tired of everything. When I called you last night from Glasgow. All I do is eat and sleep and sing, wishing every show was the last show. So imagine I was glad to hear you're coming. Suddenly I feel all right, and it's gonna be so different, when I'm on the stage tonight…”_

Joly scooted off the side of the stage and started trying to coax a forty-or-fifty-something-year-old man to join him, but the man wasn’t having it. Musichetta found someone who looked like an older version of herself who was willing to dance, and they were having a grand time. Bossuet stared at one man, who looked exactly like him, but was disappointed when it turned out it was a reflective wall. 

Musichetta patted his shoulder. “You’re one of a kind, Bossuet.”

Joly called out, _“Tonight the super trouper lights are gonna find me, shining like the sun. Smiling, having fun. Feeling like a number one.”_

The three of them all sang together at the end, _“Tonight the super trouper beams are gonna blind me. But I won't feel blue. Like I always do. 'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you.”_

Backstage, Courfeyrac was having a mild panic attack. He hadn’t practiced his very fast-paced duet with Combeferre enough, but they were up next. Jehan had volunteered to go out and stall the audience so he could look over everything quickly.

“You’ve never done one of these shows before, Flower,” Montparnasse said uneasily, “Do you know what you’re doing?” He thought Jehan could sing, it was just that he didn’t know if Jehan knew any songs. 

“I’ve got this,” Jehan assured him, tugging him along and sitting him near the stage. “You get the best seat.”

They whispered to Feuilly, who sat down in his gray James Madison jacket at the piano with a mischievous grin, checked the keys, and began playing an ominous tune. 

Jehan walked to the front of the stage, smirking, which looked funny on their normally non-sarcastic face. They took a breath, then began singing in a low voice, _"i_ _don’t know about you, boys, but if you’re like me, then hanging around, this old manhole is bringing you down. Six-feet-under under your skin, cabin fever is a-setting in. You’re stir-crazy. You’re stuck in a rut, or you could use a little pick-me-up…”_

Montparnasse was absolutely shocked, eyes wide. It wasn’t that he didn’t know Jehan was attractive, he told them every time he could, but there was something different. He had never seen Jehan being that _dark._ He looked at the other patrons to see if they were seeing this.

Jehan scooted off the stage and plopped themself into Montparnasse’s lap, who nearly passed out at the action. _“I can give you what you crave. A little something from the good old days. I got the wind right here in a jar, I got the rain on tap at the bar. I got sunshine up on the shelf. Allow me to introduce myself. Brother, what’s my name?”_

The audience shouted as they stood up, _“Our Lady Of The Underground! Our lady of the Upside-Down!”_

Jehan completed the song flawlessly, and Montparnasse was left sitting in his chair, stunned. When they walked over to him, they swung their arms over his shoulders. “What’s wrong, Montie? Too much?”

“N-no, I don’t think so,” Montparnasse stammered, standing up shakily. 

Jehan supported under the arms, bringing him backstage, saying to Courfeyrac, “You go out now, I’m not doing that again. I might’ve broke my own husband.” Montparnasse shook his head vigorously. 

Courfeyrac would’ve been laughing, but he was terrified and fidgeting with his peace sign necklace and the hems of his long, bell-bottomed pants. It didn’t help that he was one of the most blasphemous of the cast. At least Combeferre started first, and he hugged him tightly before nudging him out on stage. There was no limit on Courfeyrac’s public affections, so getting a response was nice. 

Combeferre couldn't act antagonistic, but he could sing, and besides, Jesus was most definitely not an antagonist. _“When you feel sad, or under a curse. Your life is bad, your prospects are worse. Your wife is sighing, crying. And your olive tree is dying. Temples are graying, and teeth are decaying, and creditors weighing your purse. Your mood and robe, are both a deep blue. You bet that Job, had nothing on you. Don’t forget that when you get to Heaven you’ll be blessed. Yes, it’s All For The Best!”_

The music sped up, and Courfeyrac panic increased. He took an obvious breath, then began singing, _'_ _Some men are born to live at ease, doing what they please, richer than the bees are in honey. Never growing old, never feeling cold, pulling pots of gold from thin air. The best in every town, best at shaking down, best at making mountains of money. They can't take it with them, but what do they care? They get the center of the meat, cushions on the seat houses on the street where it's sunny. Summers at the sea, winters warm and free, all of this and we get the rest. But who is the land for, the sun and the sand for? You guessed! It's All For The Best!”_ He looked up to see Combeferre smiling at him, and his whole heart was warmed. 

They went back stage, and Courfeyrac did a double take. Cosette and Eponine were dressed for their parents, and they looked spectacular as usual, but Marius was stumbling down the stairs in… pants that didn’t fit. 

“Marius, those pants are too tight. And not in the good way,” Courfeyrac stammered, rubbing his eyes. 

His friend looked down at himself, and Cosette giggled. “Are those someone else’s?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re Jehan’s, considering they handed them to me,” Marius said with a shrug. 

“Let’s find you something that fits,” Eponine suggested, pulling him to the dressing room. He came out in better-fitting pants, and a smile on his face. 

So they headed out with the announcement that this was about to become a real party. A party you wouldn’t expect the sweet Cosette, Marius, and Eponine running things. A _Revenge_ Party.

The trouple walked out on stage and grinned at each other. Everyone had a big storm coming. 

_"You know what friends do? They got your back. And they are fun to be around. When someone hurts you then, they attack, and grind your foe into the ground. Imagine a party, with dresses and cake, and singing and dancing and cake. And there's a magic act, that saws Regina in half, and this time it will take!”_ Eponine shouted, and the crowd gasped. This was not what was expected of the most innocent three people of the whole crew, though after Jehan’s performance they shouldn’t have been all that surprised.

Marius replied excitedly, _“Now that's a party!”_

They both started going. Cosette was trying to get the audience going, and it was working. The pair sang out, _"_ _A revenge party, a party that ends with somebody's head on a spike. It's a revenge party, with your two best friends. It's like a party with revenge is what it's like.”_

The three of them were now singing in unison, _"_ _It's a revenge party, a party that ends, with entrails all over the lawn. It's a revenge party with your two best friends! A revenge party, a party that ends, with somebody crushed and alone--”_

Montparnasse was rubbing his forehead, trying to figure what was reality and what was not when Eponine interjected, “ _And ugly crying!”_

The rest of their performance was further out than Montparnasse had been expecting when the theater troupe said they wanted to perform. Yes, he had thought it would be interesting to put in the playbill, but what was even going on at this point? The three performers took their bows extravagantly, and the crowd cheered. 

“Cosette, how did you even know how to act? We just sang during rehearsals,” Marius asked her as the went off stage.

Cosette flipped her hair jokingly and said, “I know a thing or two about being a Mean Girl.”

“Do we have a final act?” Montparnasse asked them, and Eponine shrugged. 

“Why don’t you go out and yodel for them?” she asked. 

“No, I did it once as a joke, I will not do it again,” Montparnasse snapped. Ex-girlfriends were a pain. “We need to find one other act, I said there would be a surprise.”

Bossuet’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea!”

In Granataire’s dressing room, Enjolras and Grantaire had curled up in a blanket together and nearly fallen asleep. Grantaire was sipping a drink, which was sitting on the table, while Enjolras read off the next idea for a play he had. They were planning on sleeping right there. They had been doing that for the past few weeks, and it worked out splendidly.

“I'm so glad we don't have to go on stage tonight,” Grantaire said, stretching.

“Suppose we had to, what would they make us sing?” Enjolras asked, resting his head against Grantaire's chest. This was a comfortable position for them, even though Enjolras ended up getting his hair played with. 

“Most likely,” Grantaire said thoughtfully, running his fingers through his partner's curls, “It would be that one Combeferre wrote and Joly made us sing.”

“Probably,” Enjolras nodded, closing his eyes with a sigh, “Good thing we don't have to--”

Just as he said this, Courfeyrac shot into the room, still in his costume. “You two are up next!”

“Don't do this to us, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire pleaded, holding onto Enjolras's hand as they were dragged out. 

“Well, unfortunately for you, Bossuet has already announced your act,” was the response.

“This is for women! Can’t we for once put girls on girl parts and boys on boy parts?” Grantaire groaned.

“Well, then this show wouldn’t be original and exciting, would it?” Courfeyrac said with a wink.

“But we're just wearing these pants and white undershirts,” Enjolras explained, trying to pull out of Courfeyrac's grasp.

“Well, looks like you'll be performing that way!” Courfeyrac gave them a good push onto the stage. 

They stumbled out, and Enjolras gave Courfeyrac a look that meant, _I am going to strangle you later._ Feuilly was getting tired of playing the piano, so Combeferre shuffled out. 

There was a little riff from him, then Enjolras said his line to set the scene. It sounded stupid without being in the musical Combeferre had written, but this was what they were working with. “Is that what this is about? There will always be women in rubber flirting with me.” The audience burst out laughing. 

Courferyac shouted from the wings, “Looks good from here, Enjolras!”

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he started to sing, _"_ _Every single day I walk down the street, I hear people say 'Baby’s so sweet.' Ever since puberty, everybody stares at me. Boys, girls, I can’t help it baby.”_

As Enjolras continued his very strange antics, Grantaire thought, _I think that pretty much sums up Enjolras’s life._ He bit his lip to keep from laughing. 

_“So be kind, and don’t lose your mind, just remember that I’m your baby,”_ Enjolras put his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, who was leaning on the piano. “ _Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be. And if you give a damn, take me, baby,_ _or leave me._ That’s what I said. _Take me baby or leave me.”_

He hopped on top of the piano, and Joly was eyeing the legs. “In no way, shape, or form is that a good idea.”

“ _A tiger in a cage, can never see the sun. This diva needs her stage, baby. Let’s have fun. You are the one I choose, folks would kill to fill your shoes, you love the limelight too now, baby. So be mine, and don’t waste my time, crying, ‘oh honey bear are you still my my my baby?’ Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be. And if you give a damn, take me baby, or leave me.”_ He stepped down from the piano, facing Grantaire now. “ _There’s no way, can I be what I’m not, but hey, don’t you want your girl hot? Don’t fight; don’t lose you head; ‘cause every night, who’s in your bed? Who’s in your bed? Kiss_ , _pookie?”_ Enjolras puckered his mouth and fluttered his eyelashes, standing directly in front of Grantaire. 

“I didn’t think you liked being crazy on stage,” he whispered as Combeferre riddled away on a crazy riff. 

“I don’t; I just have to do this so no one thinks we’re up here in our undershirts by accident,” Enjolras whispered back, and Grantaire started on his part of the song.

He placed his finger over Enjolras’s mouth as if to hush him. “ _It won’t work; I look before I leap, I love margins and discipline, I make lists in my sleep, baby. What’s my sin? Never quit, I follow through. I hate mess but I love you. What to do with my impromptu, baby. So be wise, cause this girl satisfies (ooh!). You got a prize, so don’t compromise. You’re one lucky, baby. Take me for what I am.”_

Enjolras interrupted with, “Control freak!”

_"Who_ _I was meant to be!”_

“A snob yet over-attentive!”

_“And if you give a damn--”_

“A lovable droll geek!”

_“Take me, baby, or leave me.”_

“Anal retentive!” Enjolras shouted back as they walked opposite sides of the stage, then suddenly they were both on top of the piano and Joly was biting his nails.

They sang at each other, _"_ _That's it, the straw that breaks my back, I quit, unless you take it back. Women, what is it about them? Can't live with or without them. Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be. And if you give a damn, take me, baby, or leave me--”_

Enjolras kneeled down in front of Grantaire, and in a whine voice cried out, _"_ _Take me baby or l-l-l-l-l-leave me, leave me!”_ Even Courfeyrac had to go further backstage to not have his laughter heard from the audience, who were also laughing.

_"Take me, baby, or leave me…”_ Enjolras stared into Grantaire’s eyes, and Grantaire nearly fainted. He started having a wave of bravery with this daze, so he wrapped one arm around Enjolras, on the side that was away from the audience. 

“Guess I’m leaving,” Enjolras said with a smirk.

“I'm gone,” they said together. Grantaire wasn’t sure what he was doing, but didn’t realize how low his hand was or how hard he had smacked when he patted Enjolras on the back until his partner made a sharp squeaking sound that probably only he had heard. 

The rest of the cast came out on stage and took a bow with them, and the crowd cheered. 

This was a story of Truth, Beauty, and Freedom, but above all, Love. A love that will live forever. _Now_ it’s the end.


End file.
